


Life After Life

by AMeade



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Reincarnation, Relationship(s), Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-04-14 01:51:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14125524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMeade/pseuds/AMeade
Summary: Keith and Lance have lived a thousand lives and been in a thousand relationships together. While Lance always remembers Keith between lives, it takes some prodding to get Keith to remember him. There’s got to be a way to prevent his soulmate from forgetting him. Lance sets out to find an answer no matter how many lives it takes.A fluffy reincarnation AU across time and space. Loosely inspired by the book “Reincarnation Blues” by Michael Poore.





	1. Miami, 1996

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Voltron fic ever... so... good luck! Have fun! There's a happy ending, I promise! Questions? Comments? I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> I'll be updating this fic as often as I can, so hold tight!

Miami, 1996.

These are the days of roller blades and chequered patterns; high-waisted shorts and break dancing. Lance sits in his grandmother’s kitchen. Martina is his favorite of all the grandmothers he has ever known - and there have been many favorites. She’s making Paella.

Lance wipes a sheen of sweat away from his forehead as the scent of frying onions fills the kitchen. The heat is humid today despite the breeze off the ocean. He opens the windows and startles a group of chickens outside. They’re still pretty feral, but they’re coming around.

In this life, his job - at least for this moment - is rounding up the feral chickens currently plaguing Miami and finding them a new home. Which, by all accounts, is his home. At this rate he should open an egg farm, but he doesn’t, having made something of an impromptu chicken sanctuary out of the backyard instead.

Martina stirs rice into the pan and studies him in a way she’s never done before. “You’re looking blue. It’s normally a good color on you, but not today.”

It’s the perfect timing for Haddaway’s “What is Love?” to start playing on the radio (it’s one of Lance’s favorites, and he firmly believes that the music of the 90’s just can’t be beat). But the musical cue doesn’t drop. The universe just doesn’t have that sense of dramatic irony.

Lance sighs and rests his chin heavily on his hand. “Do you believe in soulmates?”

Martina pauses from her work and turns to look at him. “Where is this question coming from?”

“If I had a soulmate, and if we both kept getting reincarnated, then shouldn’t he remember me every time we meet?”

“Well,” Martina says reasonably, casting spices into the pan in the effortless way grandmothers do, “If love was easy, would it be something you treasure?”

Lance grumbles. She has a point. He hasn’t even found Keith in this life yet anyway. But he can feel his presence and knows he’s close, a lot like sensing a rainstorm on a clear day.

Martina crosses the kitchen and places both hands on his shoulders, then draws Lance in and kisses him once on each cheek. “I wouldn’t worry about it. The universe has its own reasons for doing what it does.”

A knock on the door interrupts whatever Lance might have said. He flashes a grateful smile at his grandmother and then hops up, sandals rasping on the tile as he crosses the kitchen into the foyer. He opens the door to see a familiar face looking at him as though they’ve just met for the first time.

Again.

This might have been deflating except that seeing Keith covered in sweat, his dark hair glistening, and a brown hen tucked under his arm reminds Lance just how much he loves him. Like always, he smells like the earth after a fresh rain. Lance can’t help the smile that spreads across his face so wide that it hurts.

“Are you the chicken wrangler?” Keith deadpans.

Lance strikes a dashing pose in hopes of jostling Keith’s memory. He’d done many of these dashing poses in his last life - a Musketeer-esque duelist in 17th century France. Keith had loved these poses even if he’d said he didn’t.

But recognition doesn’t click. Keith’s expression remains neutral.

Lance drops the pose and leans with his elbow against the doorframe, trying not to show his disappointment. “Why, yes I am. And you are -?”

“In need of a chicken wrangler,” Keith says and thrusts the chicken into his arms. “There are more. That’s the only one I could catch.”

“She,” Lance corrects.

Keith arches an eyebrow. He hands Lance a business card, turns, and heads down the front walk. “Come by as soon as you can.”

Lance looks at the business card once he’s out of sight, hardly able to believe his luck. What is Keith doing in this life?

_Kogane Kenjutsu Dojo_

Lance smiles as he introduces the new hen to the rest of the chickens in the backyard. Keith has talked about being the master of a dojo for a few lives now. They might not be in feudal Japan, at least not right now, but he’s made that dream a reality.

* * *

After a delicious Paella lunch with his grandmother, Lance grabs a couple of repurposed cat carriers and skateboards over to the address on the business card.

The dojo isn’t anything like the ones he remembers from the Edo period. It’s the end unit in a nondescript strip mall, a little run down and made less imposing by the chickens clucking and pecking in the parking lot.

Keith is outside engaged in some strange standoff with the hens. This largely revolves around not allowing any of them into the building. The door is wide open and a standing fan propped just in the entrance. No air conditioning, apparently.

Lance hops off his skateboard and easily grabs a hen with one hand as he approaches. He gently places her into the carrier and stops a couple feet away.

Keith’s impassive expression turns into one of reserved amusement. “How did you even get into catching chickens for a living?”

“Couldn’t stand the idea of these girls being rounded up and put down.” Lance shrugs. “It’s a lot of work but I get donations from the local community. In return, they get pretty much all the eggs they could want.”

Keith nods, his expression one of utmost respect. Lance can feel memory begin to stir, subtle like the changing direction of a breeze and as primal as heat lightning arcing across the sky. He grins.

“Now, are you going to just stand there? Or do you want these girls out of here?” Lance pushes an empty cat carrier into Keith’s arms without waiting for an answer.

Keith doesn’t argue, and they spend the afternoon chasing chickens around until they’ve caught every delinquent fowl on the property.

After the parking lot is clear, they linger on the curb. Lance takes longer to secure the hens in his arms than he really needs to as he wonders how to ask Keith on a date. There’s always something different about the first time in a new life; as exciting and new as the first time Lance had asked him out a thousand lives ago.

Keith hesitates at the threshold of the dojo and looks back. Lance sees the beginning of memory resurface. It’s not quite time, yet, but he’s sure that by the end of the night, Keith will remember everything. The full chronicle of his memory will return like it always does and they’ll be back in each other's arms like they always were. Like they always should be. Lance can barely keep himself from dancing in anticipation.

“Do… you need help with those chickens?” Keith asks.

“Yes!” Lance crows far more enthusiastically than he intends. He mock coughs a couple of times and then lowers his voice to sound a little more respectable. “I mean, uh, yeah. They’re your chickens, so it’s kind of the least you could do.”

Keith smirks. “Pretty sure they’re yours now.”

They walk together back towards Lance’s house each holding a carrier full of clucking chickens. They don’t part ways once they’ve relocated the hens to their new home. Instead, they walk to the 7-Eleven on the corner to get Icees. Blue for Lance; Red for Keith.

Icees in hand, they walk with no particular destination in mind beneath sun-drenched boulevards, the blue expanse of ocean to their left, talking about everything and nothing until Lance can’t stand it anymore. He’s been patient, and it usually doesn’t take this long for Keith to remember him. After all, nothing says bonding time like chasing around chickens in hundred-degree weather.

“Come on. There has to be a way we can get you to remember me faster than this,” Lance says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Keith says.

“We’ve been in love, like, a thousand times. How does that not transcend space and time somehow?”

Keith looks at him like a stranger. And a very concerned stranger at that. It’s a look Lance is very familiar with, after his many lives, but it’s one that doesn’t get any easier to witness no matter how many times he’s seen it. Especially knowing what it always becomes.

“We’re soulmates, Keith!” Lance exclaims. “It’s not fair that I always remember you right away, but you never do.”

They pause at the tip of South Beach slurping their quickly-melting Icees, and face each other. Although Lance can see hesitation and confusion in Keith’s eyes, he isn’t walking away either.

He’s almost there. That glimmer in his eyes is so familiar and Lance is so impatient. He considers kissing Keith in that moment. That’s always a good way to remind him of who he is. Of who they are to each other.

But his attention is distracted as a car swerves around the corner. Even for Miami, it’s a little too early for drunk driving. Lance reacts before Keith does and pushes him out of the way.

 _Oh. It’s going to be one of those star-crossed lives_ , Lance realizes just before he hits the pavement. It hurts because of course it hurts, and he knows immediately that he’s on borrowed time.

Dying isn’t easy. It never gets better no matter how many times he does it. Lance feels like he should be an expert by now, but he still experiences the same fear and terror and loss knowing that he’ll never be able to revisit this life through these eyes again.

With his breath rattling in his chest like a broken thing, Lance grasps Keith’s hand. He sees recognition spark and the tears starting at the corners of Keith’s eyes. Time is short now.

“Lance. I’m sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t remember…” Keith says.

It’s heartbreaking like it always is, having to say goodbye like this, but even in his last breath Lance offers what comfort he can. “We’ll always find each other,” he rasps.

  
And with that, he’s whisked off into infinity again, just like he has life after life.

* * *

The universe may be many things, but if it has a single supreme kindness, it’s that that the details of each life’s end becomes fuzzy and indistinct like the end of a dream. The hopes and relationships and goals he’s developed over the course of a lifetime become somehow disassociated from himself, making it a lot like watching a show. His own, and yet not quite.

And anyway, every new life is packed with so much to do. Birth. Childhood. Puberty. All things Lance would rather not have to relive, but there’s no way around it.

And with adolescence and presence of mind comes memory: like dreams at first, but coming into clearer focus with each passing day. The places he’s been. The people he’s met. The people he’s been. Keith. His violet eyes and his raven hair. The way he somehow always manages to smell like petrichor no matter when or where they meet.

How strange it is - how strange it always is - to be in love with a person he’s never met. Or at least, one that he hasn’t met in his current life. Lance wonders what he’ll be like, this time. Will he be the samurai he wanted to be? The bladesman he dreamed of?

And, at the back of his mind, a question that’s been bothering Lance for a couple of lives now: will Keith remember him, this time?


	2. Transylvania, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith doesn't remember Lance again, as usual. Lance asks for help from some old friends and winds up having more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having a reliable internet connection is going to make it a lot easier for me to update this story on the regular. Stay tuned for Transylvania, Part II! Now with more vampires.

Transylvania, 1818.

Time isn’t the linear path that most analogies about rivers or strings suggest. It’s more like a blender. One of those nice ones that jets out smoothies and drinks ideal for tiny umbrellas.

Although there’s no real order to time itself, the experience of the particular inhabitant is sequential. After a thousand lives, Lance is confident in admitting that he prefers eras that have civilized things like air conditioning and skin care products and frozen cocktails.

Transylvania is not one of his favorite places to live. There’s a reason early 20th-century film depicts it in stark black and white. Turns out the real thing is pretty accurate: sunless and drab during the days, and full of cloaks and mist and daggers during the nights. 

Lance and Keith are detectives in this life, a bit like Sherlock Holmes, except with vampires. It’s a reference Keith doesn’t remember even though they’d watched the re-re-rebooted television series together in the 2050’s. As always, Keith is stunning with the same violet eyes and dark hair and resolute determination he has regardless of their purpose. He’s wearing a dark, detective-worthy overcoat with brass buttons that gleam in the candlelight. His indigo neck warmer is the only splash of color for miles.

Lance fidgets as he sits in their shared office. It’s dark, like everything else in this town, as though color hasn’t been invented yet. He sort of feels like he’s living in a noir film complete with hard-to-crack case. Finding and dealing with the vampires terrorizing the town is occupying all of Keith’s attention and prolonging the amount of time before he remembers the chronicle of their long history.

Lance thinks about red and blue Icees and the many, many sunsets they’ve watched together in other lives. He misses the ocean, thousands of miles and a month by horse away. And although it’s a long shot - they’re probably weeks away from Keith remembering anything at this point - Lance still has to ask.

“Do you remember Miami?”

“Do I remember what?” Keith asks, not looking up from the dossier.

“Miami. Chickens. You know. I saved your life.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Keith says and hands him a packet of papers. “Find out if Shiro has any more information about this woman. Every lead seems to involve her, somehow.”

Lance takes the folder from him and peeks inside. _Nyma_ , the name at the top reads. It seems kind of familiar, but a thousand lives is a lot of history to keep track of. He tucks the folder under his arm and heads down the hall to Shiro’s office.

Keith isn’t the only person he meets time and time again. There are a handful of regulars across his many lives. Pidge and Shiro are two of these souls.

In this life, Pidge is a scientific consultant from the local college. She’s on the case to determine whether vampires are real or not. Shiro is Transylvania’s rather put-upon chief constable. Some people are born leaders, but Shiro is a born leader no matter what life he’s living. They’re both wearing wool and linen as drab as everyone else in this town.

“By all rights,” Pidge is saying and gesturing at a heavily-inscribed chalkboard as Lance enters the office, “Moonlight is just reflected sunlight. So, if vampires are actually real, then that kind of light should fry them too.”

Shiro runs a hand through his hair, looking as though he wants to make a counter-argument but clearly at a loss. He sighs. “Whether or not vampires are real, we need to get this situation under control before citizens resort to mob rule. And that never ends well.”

“Like that time with the witches,” Pidge agrees, plopping down on the edge of Shiro’s desk. “Right, Lance?”

Lance nods. He remembers the Salem Witch Trials quite well. He and Keith had burned at the stake for their love. No regrets there, although that had been a particularly unpleasant death. 

“Yeah. Let’s never do the mob rule thing again,” Lance said and hands Shiro the folder.

“There has to be some sort of genetic mutation for elongated canines. And maybe some sort of virus or bacteria… even a parasite, maybe,” Pidge says, turning back to the chalkboard thoughtfully.

Shiro leafs through the papers. His eyebrows arch in surprise and then understanding. “Nyma,” he murmurs. “Like a moth to a flame, she’s always causing some kind of problem.”

“Yeah. Like that time she pulled the ‘damsel in distress’ thing and tied Lance to a tree,” Pidge snorts with raucous laughter.

Lance isn’t listening. Even Pidge and Shiro recall their past lives together. Lance comes to the conclusion that he needs a vacation. That’s one way to get Keith to remember that they’re soulmates. They can go to Malta or France or the Italian coast. A night on the town, a romantic meal, a dance beneath the stars, and Keith will remember him like he always does. And then they’ll live happily ever after. It’s a neat and temporary solution to a complicated and long-standing problem.

But Keith won’t leave Transylvania until the vampire problem is taken care of. Lance might have to wait weeks. Or months. He doesn’t think he can do it this time. Not after their last meeting was cut so short.

Lance turns to Pidge and opens both hands in a hopeful plea. “Alright, alright. You’re the science whiz. Why doesn’t Keith ever remember me? We always fall in love, but… I mean, it’d make more sense if I forgot every once in a while. But I don’t.”

Pidge shrugs and eyes him over the rims of her glasses. “What do I look like, a universal guru?”

“That’s it!” Lance exclaims. “I need a universal guru. Shiro, you have to know someone, don’t you?”

Shiro has lived more lives than Lance and always seems to have an answer or a game plan for everything. His expression is sympathetic.

“Slav might know,” Shiro says at last.

Lance beams at him. “Great! Where do I find him?”

* * *

Slav tends a suitably arcane shop packed with vials and mysterious relics on the outskirts of town. It’s dark - but what isn’t, in Transylvania? - and Lance has to bend in almost half to avoid hitting his head on the assortment of trinkets and gadgets hanging from the rafters.

Lance hasn’t met Slav before, though he’s heard Shiro mention him in past lives. Slav is a small, nervous man made to appear all the smaller by his tendency to wear voluminous robes. He’s a scientist of a sort, but not of any science that exists yet. Not officially, at least.

Slav is presently balanced on the top of a rickety ladder, reaching across a tome-stuffed bookshelf for a jar of something that appears to be butterfly wings.

“There is a theory that life is much like being chained in a cave, watching shadows and firelight on the walls,” Slav says without preamble.

Lance ducks under an evil eye only to crash face-first into a knotted tangle of wind chimes. They clank and clatter and he scrambles to grabs hold of them to stop the noise. “Oh. And?”

“We assume that the shadows we see are the truth. But in all realities, knowledge of empirical evidence alone makes us experts of nothing.” Slav hurries across the room and sets the jar on the counter. He stands back and looks at his work, nodding in satisfaction. The butterfly wings are grey in the dim light.

Lance waits, expecting for something to happen. Nothing does.

After another moment and a bit of worried humming, Slav takes the jar off the counter and returns it to the bookshelf.

“So, then!” Slav says suddenly enough that Lance jumps, startled. “You are clearly here for some specific purpose, but the question is which one?”

“I’m here for… wait, how did you know that?”

“In ninety-one percent of realities, you ask for my assistance.”

“What? Only ninety-one?” Lance can’t imagine these kinds of odds being realistic. “What about the other nine percent?”

“In those, Shiro did not tell you to speak to me. Not in this life, at least.” Slav picks up a paper folding fan and studies it as though it might hold the answers to enlightenment.

Lance waits. Slav is engrossed in the fan and seems to have forgotten about him. He looks around for something to make himself look occupied, or at the very least, to seem a little less awkward just waiting around. There’s an assortment of rocks, crystals, and watch parts on the nearby curio. He reaches out towards a generic looking rock.

Slav swats his hand with the fan like a cross schoolteacher. “Don’t touch that! There’s a twenty-nine percentage chance that by moving that stone, you will cause a terrible blizzard to befall this valley three centuries from now.”

Lance pulls his hand away from the otherwise unremarkable river stone. He tucks his hands into his pockets just to be on the safe side. Then he coughs politely. “So, uh… Can you help me? My soulmate never remembers me across our lives, and I was wondering if there’s a way for him to not forget.”

Slav groans and wags a finger at him. “Oh, no. I deal with the innumerable possibilities of _realities_ , not with reincarnation. You’ll need to speak with a Universal Entity about that.”

“A what?”

“A Universal Entity. Threads of the universe; transient metaphysical purpose; big picture causality.” 

Dismayed, Lance grimaces. “Okay. So where do I find a Universal Entity?”

Slav ushers him towards the door. “I don’t have any more answers for you. Not in this or any reality. Now hurry. Otherwise there’s a seventy-six-point-three percent chance you’ll be ambushed by a vampire on your way back to work.”

Lance doesn’t like those odds. He exits the shop and into the gloomy afternoon, wondering where he can possibly find a Universal Entity.


	3. Transylvania, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance meets another familiar soul, and makes a little more progress towards finding out how to contact Universal Entities. It's a day of mixed success for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> April was a crazy month! At long last, chapter three is finally up... and I even have an overall chapter count now. As always, I'd love to hear your comments and questions!

Fortunately for Lance, he’s in one of the realities where he does not get ambushed by a vampire on his way back to the precinct. Unfortunately for Lance, in this particular reality, Slav forgets to mention his chances of getting robbed at knifepoint.

It is, all in all, an afternoon of mixed success.

Lance is in the middle of emptying out his coin pouch for the thief when a shadow swoops out of the - well, the shadows. A flash of a blade’s edge in the moonlight and the thief takes off into the night. Lance’s heart soars. His rescuer is dashing and wields a blade of liquid moonlight with the fluid ease of a master of the craft. But Lance is quickly disappointed. His rescuer isn’t Keith.

It’s Lotor.

Lotor is one of those souls that Lance has met before, and in each life, he never knows quite what to make of him. He's always pursuing his own agenda; one that seems to involve quintessence, and which Lance only glimpses like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle - each piece contributing to a larger goal, but impossible to see until its completion. Lotor is style and tenacity and resolve, and right now he's standing askance, eying Lance as though it's an inconvenience to be there.

“Not quite who I was looking for, but, you'll do,” Lotor says.

Lance bristles. “I'll do? I'm not some second-hand consolation prize.”

Lotor sheathes his sword and regards him with cat-like disinterest. “I've come across some news that may be of interest to you and your compatriots.”

Lance dusts himself off and huffily pockets his coin pouch. “Not interested.”

“The vampires have planned a coup on the governor's mansion tomorrow.”

There are a lot of reasons this is bad news, and being burned at the stake is the least of these. Still, Lance can't help but be skeptical. He eyes Lotor sidelong, but the man has the best poker face of anyone he’s ever met in any of his lives - even actual poker players.

“Why are you telling me this?” Lance asks.

“I would prefer the town not fall to the nonsense of anarchy. It would be disruptive to my research.” Lotor sighs and rakes a hand through his ever-perfect hair. “I respectfully request that you facilitate a meeting between myself and Chief Constable Takashi.”

“J-just because you saved me from a thief doesn't mean I owe you anything.”

“ _Owing_ brings the wrong motivations into the equation by removing free choice. No. We both benefit from the continued peace. You, of course, do not have the town burn under your watch. And I can continue my research in peace.” Lotor looks sidelong at him, calculating. “I'm to take it that Mr. Kogane does not yet recall your storied history.”

Lance clenches his fists. “That's not your -”

“I also seem to recall that love and war are intimately connected.”

It's true. There's no better way to cement a bond than conflict. Lance rubs a hand back and forth through his hair. A sudden thought occurs to him. “Do you know anything about Universal Entities?”

Lotor smiles. His teeth are sharp. “If the continued peace is not incentive enough, then perhaps we can help each other. Secure an audience with Mr. Takashi for me, and I will tell you what I know about Universal Entities. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Lance is uneasy about making any kind of deal with Lotor, although he has to admit Lotor has never betrayed him in any of their previous encounters. However, if there really is a raid, it would be foolish not to warn Shiro of the possibility.

“Alright. Let's go,” Lance says.

 

* * *

  
“A raid?”

Back at the Precinct, Shiro isn’t nearly as doubtful as Lance is. He’s leaning against his desk with arms folded across his chest, deep contemplation flickering behind his dark eyes. Next to him, Pidge has even paused her research to observe the proceedings. Lance and Keith watch from their places by the doorway.

“How did you come by this information?” Shiro asks.

“In the way one usually comes by sensitive information: loose tongues and merchants overeager to make a sale,” Lotor says with disdain.

“That’s not good enough. I need more than that before I send three-quarters of the police force to the governor’s mansion.”

“They plan to attack in three separate groups. Two will distract the main force at the front gate. A smaller third group will take advantage of the distraction and infiltrate via the rear gate,” Lotor says as though Shiro hadn’t spoken. “They plan to - shall we say, persuade - the governor to resign and turn over control to their leader. Nyma, I do believe.”

Everyone in the room starts at the sound of her name.

Pidge frowns. “This is a bold plan even for vampires.”

“They aren’t vampires,”Lotor says. “They’re merely a cult masquerading as such, utilizing herd mentality and fear of the unknown to leverage themselves into power. After all, while an individual has sense, people are susceptible to fear and fantasy.”

“Pidge is right. It’s too unlikely, and with most of the the police force dispatched, that leaves the rest of the town vulnerable.”

Lotor arches his perfect eyebrows knowingly. “Is doing nothing truly worth the potential risk?”

The air feels as though it’s been sucked from the room. Shiro glances out the window at the darkness outside. Pidge growls deep in her throat. Keith’s hand drifts to the pommel of his sword. It takes all of Lance’s self-restraint to stop himself from cracking a badly-timed joke.

“Fine. I’ll figure out a way to cover. Maybe send for extra hands from the next precinct,” Shiro says at last, though he doesn’t look too pleased about this. “Keith. You and Lance take the back gate. I’ll lead the main attack at the front.”

“And I will lend my blade to this noble cause,” Lotor says with the slightest polite nod.

Shiro seems as though he’s about to argue, but relents at the last moment. “What time do they plan to attack?”

“Noon,” Lotor says glibly and turns on a heel. He sweeps past Lance and Keith and into the long hall leading back towards town.

That’s the problem with Transylvania. Whether or not they’re real, it can be noon and still dark enough for vampires.

* * *

  
The raid happens the next day exactly as Lotor says it will. Nyma splits her acolytes into three groups, concentrating the two largest groups at the front gate as a distraction.  
Keith, Lance, and Lotor are ready at the back gate when the third group emerges from a particularly dark thicket of afternoon shadows.

It's fast and violent and bloody. Recognition lights in Keith’s eyes the moment that he spots a vampire about to sink her teeth into Lance's neck. Keith throws a dagger into her back with pinpoint accuracy and proceeds to drag Lance out of the fray. He then proceeds to be the fiercely protective warrior that Lance has known and loved for a thousand and one lives. His sword slices perfect arcs into their enemies, creating a defensive wall made of fury and love.

Between Lance’s pistol and the combined fury of Keith’s and Lotor’s blades, the fight is over within minutes. The dust clears. The vampires are routed. Nyma is taken into custody, and her cult disbanded.

Keith sweeps Lance into his arms under the moonlight. It's the perfect juxtaposition of life and death; of love and war. Their kiss is one of the most romantic that they’ll ever have. Lance wants to tear off their clothes then and there, but he’s waited this long. He can wait until they get back to Lance’s apartment.

“You always forgive me for forgetting you,” Keith murmurs, his eyes dark and filled with love.

Lance brushes a lock of sweat-soaked hair back over Keith’s ear and smiles at him. “Of course I do. We’re soulmates. That’s what we do.”

Although Lance hadn’t seen Lotor enter the mansion, he spots the man emerging from the back door. As little as he wants to leave Keith’s side - especially not with him remembering Lance for less than ten minutes - Lance needs any information he can get about Universal Entities.

Lotor has clearly been expecting his moment. He folds a slip of parchment and extends it to him as Lance approaches. “Farewell for now. We'll meet again, no doubt.”

“Yeah. Later,” Lance says absently as he unfolds the paper. A series of calligraphy-worthy numbers glides across the paper like precise blade work.

It looks like a phone number.

Lance isn't sure what to make of this as he returns to where Keith is waiting for him. Disappointment and puzzlement tangle together as they vie for his attention.

“What was that about?” Keith asks, casting a suspicious glare towards Lotor.

Lance shows Keith the number and tells him about Universal Entities. When he’s done, there’s a moment of terrible silence. It’s the kind of silence of two people who have both come to a conclusion neither wants to voice.

Keith clears his throat and speaks first. “Long-distance calls won’t be invented until the 1960’s.”

It’s 1818. There’s no way either of them will see that year in this life. Lance seethes for a while, then resolves to commit the number to memory. He hopes they wind up in a time with long-distance calling in their next lives.

But for now, there's nothing for it. Keith remembers him, and that's more than enough to keep Lance happy.

Sometimes they can spend a lifetime together. Sometimes, they aren’t so lucky. After all, some lives are more difficult than others. One in particular stands out to him across all the lives he’s lived - one of those scarring traumas he can barely think about without breaking into cold sweats. They’d still been new souls, then - barely half a dozen lives under their belts between them.

Rome had been alright. They’d had a form of plumbing, good food and drink, and a prosperous society until it all fell apart. Keith had been a gladiator in that life - a slave from the Far East. Lance, a senator’s son, had first seen him at the Coliseum standing in a line of the day’s entertainment.

Lance didn’t like to do it, but he purchased Keith to free him from almost certain death. Battle-hardened and the barrier of language standing between them, Keith was as difficult as Lance could remember him ever being. But love is a powerful thing, and forbidden love even more so.

Under the cover of night, they fled to a town called Pompeii, nestled in the shadow of a mountain. They lived there in relative peace until, one day in 79 AD, the mountain revealed that it was anything but. And in the fires and upheaval of the world, they held each other until darkness consumed all and Lance remembered nothing more from that life.

It’s one of the many reasons Lance appreciates their peaceful lives together. Their life after Transylvania numbers among these. They move to the Italian coast, where they live out their days in the sun-baked colors of the Mediterranean. They watch the sunsets over the ocean as they have in so many other lives. They do all the mundane, comforting things all couples do from laundry to losing socks and arguing over whose turn it is to do dishes.

Time passes, and the years turn from one to the next until old age escorts them tranquilly into their next life together.


End file.
